The Park and Other Things

"Why don't you take Tripp to the park?" Katherine suggested after breakfast. He had picked delicately at some scrambled eggs and managed a few hesitant bites of sausage.

"Is it spicy?" he had asked, his blue eyes narrowed.

"No, it's not spicy at all," his mother said reassuringly.

"It's not spicy?"

"No, in fact it's sweet," Katherine said.

"It's sweet, not spicy?"

"That's right," I echoed. "Not spicy, sweet."

"Oh!" said Tripp, stiffening in his seat.

"What?" I asked.

"An ant! Get it!" A speck the size of a freckle was scurrying along the perimeter of Tripp's Color-a-Mat fire engine placemat.

I put my finger down to the ant, which crawled on board as Tripp shrank back quivering.

"It's just a little creature," I explained.

"Oh, boy, here we go," Katherine said, feeding Ollie a peach, some egg, sausage and granola.

"...And I'm just going to put him outside so he can find his little ant friends."

"Why?"

"Because an ant has just as much right to exist as we do."

Tripp followed me outside where, after releasing the ant onto the deck I pointed out the small stone Buddha that Tripp's Uncle Will had given me.

"The Buddha taught that all beings should be honored and protected, even ants."

"But why?" Tripp asked. He placed his hands on the stone statue, as if to lift it.

"Careful, Kiddo," I said. "It's heavy."

"I think it is not," declared Tripp.

*

After turning the handle to raise and lower the large green umbreya a few times, after sitting in each of the four wrought iron chairs, having artfully avoided anything moving, be it ant or infinitesimal fly (or anything wet) that might potentially threaten bodily harm, we were ready for a jaunt to the park.

Tripp wore his khaki shorts, red, white and blue sneakers, his blue polo shirt with the color turned up just so, and his purple shades.

"What are you doing to yourself?" Tripp inquired, as I hopped on one foot around the mudroom trying to pull on a tennis sock.

"It's a tennis sock," I explained.

"Why?"

*

"What shall we do first?" I questioned when we had reached the green expanse of the park. "The slide? The tire swing? The sand box?"

"I think the tire swing."

I lifted my grandson onto the large black rubber tire, reminding him to hold on tight and began to push.

"Spin me, Beauma!"

"Okay! How's this?" I asked, rotating the swing first in one direction, then the other. I pointed out the skate park, the pool and the young female lifeguard who was readying the pool vacuum.

A look of consternation crossed Tripp's face as he swiveled his head toward the menacing red plastic coil.

"She's not going to vacuum near us," I said hastily.

"I don't want it," Tripp said. 

"No problem," I said.

"Faster, Beauma!"

"You got it."

"No, slow down, Beauma!" 

"Okay!"

"I want to go on the slide!"

"Great!"

"The water spout!" Tripp bellowed, having dismounted and zipped full speed, blue sneakers flashing toward a curved grey plastic slide attached to a wooden platform with tunnels, and a shaky bridge, ladders, rings and several types and heights of blue plastic slides.

He approached the partially covered grey slide from the bottom, which did indeed resemble a water spout, and began to crawl inside. From above came the muffled order, "Sing, Beauma! Sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider!"

"What, now?" I called, glancing around.

"Yes! Sing Itsy Bitsy Spider right now!"

"Can you ask nicely?"

"May you pease sing Itsy Bitsy Spider right now!"

I bent down and began to sing, "The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout," as the spider unexpectedly emerged at the bottom of the spout, turned and began to inch its way up again.

"Again, Beauma!"

"The itsy bitsy spider..."

"If you stick your head inside, it will really be loud," a nearby mother volunteered.

We played this game until other children began to want their turns, and the spider became agitated, waving its arms and declaring it was HIS slide, and had to be carried off to a quiet place to discuss sharing.

Ollie and I are ready to join you! Katherine texted.

"Okay, how about a few minutes in the sand box, and then we can go and get Mommy and Ollie?"

"No!"

"You can play with the trucks for a little bit, and then we'll go get Ollie and Mommy and come back."

"Right now?"

"Well, sort of, but we might want to get a picnic first."

"No, but I mean can we come back to the park right now?

*

Are We There Yet?

"I need my umbreya!" Tripp says.

Raindrops have started to spatter just as we have pulled into a rest stop off the Taconic Parkway en route to Vermont for the 4th of July weekend. While my daughter changes Ollie in the back of the car, Tripp and I skip inside to choose snacks. Tripp holds two fingers of my right hand and has his tiny blue flashlight to light the way. It's 7:30am.

"Oh!" he says. "Don't go in the wet," he warns me, stepping carefully around a smallish puddle. His choices, after a painfully slow circuit of primarily expensive junk food are a bottle of pink "yemonade," a bag of maple flavored pretzels and M&Ms.

"Are you sure your mother lets you have that pink juice? It looks like it's full of sugar."

"Oh, yes," says Tripp.

"What is taking you two so long?" his mother asks, Ollie riding on her hip. "All of that can go back," she directs us.

"No-o!" Tripp says.

Deftly, Katherine substitutes a Cliff Bar for the pretzels and water for the sickly pink juice. I hide the M&Ms.

"I told you," I whisper to Tripp, "that your mother probably wouldn't approve."

"She was not entirely pleased," he murmurs thoughtfully.

"It's from a book," Katherine explains over her shoulder.

"Whydough?" He asks as we run, run, run back to the car.

"Because it's not healthy."

"Why?"

"Because it's full of sugar."

"But why?"

"Because..."

"How about a movie?" Katherine interrupts, once everyone is buckled back into car seats.

"I want 5 Little Monkeys!" Tripp shouts.

"How about asking nicely?"

"Pease may I have 5 Little Monkeys?"

"Yes," we agree.

"5 Little Monkeys right now?"

"As soon as it is humanly possible."

My job as navigator is to press the repeat button on the DVD player several hundred times, so 5 Little Monkeys can play indefinitely - or for the next 2 hours. I am to adjust Tripp's headphones, which keep slipping, locate his flashlight, offer choice morsels of Cliff Bar and Pirate Booty (not the green kind), feed Ollie organic Os, hand Ollie various toys, but not the Incy Wincy Spider book, because Tripp wants it, make noises and faces, uncap water bottles and offer condolences when the water bottle cap sails out the window.

"Oh, my cap!"

"It's okay, we can substitute another one for that one when we get to Vermont."

"Why?"

"Because the original one flew out the window."

"Why?"

"We're nearly to Beauma's," Katherine interrupts.

"In Vermont?" Tripp asks.

"Yes," we answer.

"Is this Vermont?" says Tripp, surveying his surroundings.

"As soon as we see the green sign welcoming us to Vermont," I explain, "We'll be in Vermont."

"Why?"

"Why is there a sign? Why is there a place called Vermont? Is Vermont simply a state of mind? Why are there clouds? Why do little boys ask so many questions?"  Katherine and I joke.

"Is this Vermont?" Tripp demands, pointing to a field.

"Almost, buddy!"

"Is this Vermont?" Tripp asks pointing to a man on a bicycle.

"Just about!"

"I want to go to Beauma's!"

"We're nearly there!"

"In Vermont?"

"Yes!" we say.

"Why?"

Soon after, we arrive in Manchester, spent.

"Is this Vermont?" Tripp wants to know.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! This is Vermont!"

Tripp indicates a traffic circle, the bookstore, pedestrians, small, possibly quiet children in strollers, and parked cars. All of it is Vermont.

"But, where is Beauma's house?"

"We just have to go through town, make a left, go down a big hill, make another left, go up a big hill, bear left and we will be at Beauma's," I say in an effort to be specific.

We glide into the driveway, Katherine backing up a bit because she has run onto the grass, while Tripp sighs happily, "I just yove Vermont."

*